“Hugo,” she awoke him softly. And he looked at her for the first time since Smith’s entrance, his eyes clung to her. A very fond gesture took her hand to his shoulder--the tall, thin, stooping man whose white face took a word as visibly as it suffered a headache. Hugo Carr found many things quite unbearable. His eyes seemed to cling to her for a support against his thoughts. “It’s ghastly,” he whispered. “Joan, don’t you see--it’s ghastly! Poor old Ralph--down there, all alone! While we up here----” He passed a hand over his mouth to stop its twitching; and it was as though his hand had put on it a bitterness which was not there before. “While we up here were making love--his best friend and his wife!” Involuntarily he put the best friend first, for Hugo Carr loved his friends; and, for him, friendship was one of the first principles of the civilised state. That is how he saw the civilised state. “Poor, poor Ralph!” she said ever so softly. His eyes tore away from her face. As though they hadn’t been able to find there the support they needed. “There are some things ...” he began feverishly. “Oh, my dear!” Joan protested miserably, as though against the unbearable philosophy of it. But it is a mistake to protest against the unbearable philosophy of a man of honour. “There are some things,” Mr. Carr insisted with feverish violence, “that are unpardonable and unmendable. And there’s no excuse big enough for them....” He looked like a priest, a priest in the temple of friendship, burning incense to the ideal idea.... And Joan nodded, her eyes on him who saw nothing but the ruin of the ideal idea. “God simply has not put enough excuses into the world to meet the crimes of the world.” The words burst out of him. “And this is even worse, because it is a crime so big that there’s simply no punishment been made to meet it. It’s just betrayal....” And the force of that mediæval word, its ultimate meaning, broke him down. Hugo Carr sobbed. “O my God, it’s beastly, beastly! Poor old Ralph, down in that room, alone. Betrayed--by his best friend and his wife--and suspecting at last that he had been betrayed, only suspecting it--and not able to bear the suspicion. That’s the horrible part of it--don’t you see, Joan, don’t you see? How could he bear it--dear old Ralph, who has never suspected any one in his life? He simply wasn’t made that way. And so.... Oh, my God, while we were making love up here, we who’ve quibbled for two years whether we would hurt his feelings or not--his _feelings_! We’ve killed old Ralph....”